


Built for Two

by orphan_account



Series: Love at Second Sight [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but it's just one asshole), Domestic Fluff, Homophobia, Kid Fic, Kid!Isaac, Kid!Jackson, Kid!Scott, M/M, but it's all just sugar and fluff, it's no longer under the assumption of an office AU, really really fluffy, there's really no plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 'unintentionally out-proposing each other', Derek and Stiles settle into domestic comfort, dealing with the trials of daily life. A teacher is scolded (severely), a cut is bandaged, and wedding days are set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Built for Two

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lana Del Rey, "Video Games". I'm sorry for not including the wedding this time, but next time's likely!

FEBRUARY 4

Stiles loves his name.

Derek only learned it the first night after they had slept together—made love, his more instinctive side corrects, and he’s inclined to agree—and had traced the letters onto his back, loving every sloping line of Stiles’s body. _Sebastian_.

Sebastian Hale has a ring to it. Literally. He wears his engagement ring everywhere he can, and takes some sort of gleeful pleasure when people inquire. “Oh _yes_ ,” he’ll say, “Derek and I are engaged.” Derek enjoys the way he lights up, literally like the Christmas lights that had glinted in the background when they had both tried to unintentionally out-propose the other.

 _“Papa,”_ the wail echoes in the newly bought house—Stiles asked about getting a “home”, and what Stiles wanted—and Derek jolts, darting nimbly on his feet to the sound of the howl Stiles and Isaac are off to pick up Jacks from school, and Scott chose to continue coloring.

(Derek can choose his hours he spends in the office, and Stiles’s unstoppable libido had him calling in this morning and informing Boyd he’d be working from home today and to forward all emails to his home email. Boyd, smug bastard, had laughed before hanging up.) He skids to a stop in front of his boy—nephew, son, what’s the difference?—and takes in the scene in a heartbeat.

Scott is clutching his hand, a long gash running from his tendon up his wrist, and it’s oozing blood sluggishly. Derek has a brief thought _(Oh thank god Stiles isn’t here for this)_ before he lurches into action. He picks up his son, and carries him into the bathroom, perching him on the marble ledge. “How’d this happen, Scott?” he asks soothingly, wetting a cloth and gently wiping off the blood.

“Sc-scissors,” Scott hiccups, tears streaking his face. “I wanted to cut out paper for a book for Tatusiu and—and the big scissors hurt me.” He tries to hide his face, brown eyes watery and guilty. “I’m _sorry_ , Papa, _sorry_.”

He’s as clumsy as his father. “It’s okay, Otter,” he says relaxingly, chucking him lightly under the chin as he tosses the bloodied cloth into the laundry basket—Stiles’s compromise on laundry. “Stay right here while I get a _big_ band-aid.” Scott blinks, the prospect of a _big_ band-aid evidently mind-blowing, and when Derek returns with a box of the giant cloth ones, he gives a sharp squeal.

“Papa, those are _huge_ ,” he says solemnly, pain forgotten in the marvel of the big band-aids. He yelps when Derek carefully wipes down the cut with a kid-friendly sanitation wipe, and smiles when the bandages are methodically placed onto the cut. “Thanks, Papa!” he says, squirming down from the counter as the sound of an engine rumbles into detection.

“Tatusiu! Tatusiu! I got hurt!” he calls informatively, and Derek shakes his head before following his middle child. Stiles is frowning when he finds his fiancé, and Derek stashes the frown away before it melts when he sees Scott.

“Scotty, dear heart,” he says worriedly, glancing up at Derek. Derek shakes his head, mouthing _he’s fine_. “What on earth did you do? You look like you’ve been mauled by a bear!” He kneels down, gathering Scott into his arms as Scott purses his lips and begins to whisper into Stiles’s ear. “Thank you for the thought, Scotty, love, but let Papa or I do big scissors cutting, okay? That goes for you two as well.”

Jackson stalks up to Derek, blue eyes distressed. “Miss Elson says you have to go in for a parent conference,” he confides anxiously. “And Tatusiu looked mad. He’s not, is he?” He walks with Derek as Stiles continues checking on Scott, Isaac hanging off of him.

“Of course not, Jacks,” Derek replies, and helps Jackson pull out his homework. “Math again? Multiplication? Hmm…” He waits, Jackson setting up the problem, before instructing him on the steps. By this time, Stiles kisses Derek hello again, Scott is happily coloring with Isaac once more. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“Bigoted homophobes everywhere,” Stiles mutters angrily. “The conference is on Thursday.” He pauses, then frowns furiously. “And I won’t be able to go, because legally, there’s no claim of guardianship for myself.”

Stiles pouts the best-worst of all (the prettiest, and the saddest), lower lip fat and stuck out like a swollen—never _mind_. His boys are around. “No, no,” Derek hurries. “I can call her and tell her my fiancé will be arriving.”

“I told her,” Stiles mumbles, sadness replacing anger. “She said guardianship. She’s a forty-year-old spinster, no surprise, but _still_ …” He sighs, leaning down to carefully correct Jackson’s equation. “No, Jacks, you line up the two numbers. The bigger usually goes on top.” He turns back to Derek. “I want to be able to _talk_ about my children, not just listen to you tell how it happened.”

“You will,” Derek comforts, wrapping his fiancé in his arms and kissing him soundly. Isaac giggles, scandalized, and Scott rasps in his throat.

 _“Gross,”_ he shouts, but he continues tracing down his page without breaking rhythm.

Later, Derek finds Stiles’s iPod, and glances through the list of songs. And hell, Derek doesn’t know any of them. He picks one at random, perking one ear for the sound of water running—for Isaac’s and Scott’s baths, Jackson’s shower—and puts in the ear-buds. “Oh my god, put that _down_ ,” Stiles scolds, entering the room. He manages to pull them from the jack.

_“—whose tears didn’t care, they just hung in the air—”_

“Derek, no,” Stiles exclaims, scrabbling to shut it off. Derek lifts an eyebrow, curious as to what is making him so desperate to turn off the iPod. He shrugs, sprawling out on the bed to enjoy a few minutes of peaceful rest until he’s undoubtedly called to tuck in and read stories. Stiles flings the iPod into a pile of dirty clothes. He notes the place, and waits for the invariable “Pa _pa,_ I’m ready for bed!”

Tonight, it comes from Isaac, and Stiles is beckoned by Jackson. Derek smoothes Isaac’s curls back, kisses his forehead, and says as accurately as possible, “Kocham çie.” _I love you_. Laura would have _adored_ Stiles, and he knows it. She would have badgered him endlessly to teach her Polish, and as a small little nod, he asked to learn a bit as well.

“Kocham çie, Papa!” Isaac chirps, and burrows further under his blanket. He’ll be four in July, and it’ll be Stiles’s and his first year. And damn, they’re already engaged, but he _knows_. Laura encouraged him in that stuff, by reading him epics of love and devotion, and he still has them, from her things. The boys will want them when they’re older.

He passes Stiles on his way to Jackson’s room, Stiles off to Scott, and he pecks him on the cheek. “Love you,” he says easily, words sliding off his tongue like raindrops. “Perhaps if we’re not too tired…”

Stiles grins, honeyed eyes glittering in the dark. “Damn right,” he retorts, and slips into Scott’s room. “Otter,” he greets, and Derek smiles before entering Jackson’s room.

He’s happy.

*

FEBRUARY 6

Stiles is nervous. Jackson is still in school, Scott and Isaac with Erica, and Derek managed to snake another day off to soothe his fiancé in case something was wrong. They pull in the parking lot, and Stiles breathes heavily. “What if she calls us bad parents?” he grinds out, head falling onto the dashboard with a thud. “What if I _am_ , Derek? What if I shouldn’t be a father to our boys?”

“She’s a liar, you’re not, and you’re the best man I’ve ever seen, Stiles, with any child, not just ours,” he assures Stiles, calloused palm brushing the delicate skin of Stiles’s cheek. “I love you and we’ll be fine.” He opens his car door, walking around to open Stiles’s for him.

(It’s not as if his love came this easy with his few paramours before Stiles. Kate had been a scarring woman, and her hands burnt on his skin as if she held fire. Stiles’s hands were like the ocean, licking slowly at his skin as if he were sand, soft and rolling and full of words that he needn’t say, and _that_ was why his love came easy.)

They come into the office, holding hands. The women working in the office blush partially from surprise and attraction, and swiftly direct them to Miss Elson’s office. He knocks on the door, and finds Miss Elson waiting, as if she were dialed. He wouldn’t be surprised. “Come in, Mr. Hale… and Mr. Stilinski,” she says flatly. “The children are at lunch.”

“What seems to be the problem, _Miss_ Elson?” Stiles asks coldly, and Derek squeezes his hand. “Derek is quite busy at work so it’d be appreciated if we made this short and simple.”

“Jackson is being taunted at school for having a _homosexual uncle_ ,” she says, and the way she strains on those words, Derek just stares. Stiles does, too. “It’s quite distracting in the classroom.” She drums her fingers on the desk, and waits. When they don’t answer, she explodes. “Say something, Mr. Hale! Your nephew is being bullied because of you, what will you do?”

“Jackson is not being taunted at school,” Stiles says clearly, obviously wanting to say something else. “I asked him recently about his classmates. They seem to like them, and besides, they are _eight years old_. Anyone’s relationship is gross. I believe that it is _your_ homophobia you’re expressing. Does it bother you that Mr. Hale is engaged to me? That two men are the _parents_ of your student?”

She blinks, a hand falling against her open mouth. “Come on, Derek,” Stiles says shortly, and tugs Stiles up. “I think we should go transfer our Jackson.”

They end up taking Jackson home early, and they roast marshmallows in the microwave. Derek doesn’t say anything about Jackson’s _previous_ teacher when he breaks a plate and drops with it, in tears. He strokes his Stiles’s back, and tells him everything he needs to hear. For all of Stiles’s affinity with words, sometimes touch does the job instead.

When they make love in the night, Stiles clings to Derek, not the ocean but the panicked traveler _on_ the sea. As Derek rocks against him, he presses feather-light kisses against Stiles’s collarbone, his shoulders, everywhere he can touch. When Stiles gets closer to orgasm, he grows more calm, content to speed his rolling hips and moan out Derek’s name.

As Derek cradles Stiles to his chest, they fall asleep with their hands clasped together.

*

FEBRUARY 14

Valentine’s Day, and Derek remembers Stiles’s iPod. When he gets home, Stiles has left a note. _At the park, I’m dropping the boys off at Erica’s. We’re going to dinner._ He has drawn a little heart, and signed it _SS Hale (I sound like a ship!)_ and it makes Derek laugh.

Stiles is amazing. When he finally gets the chance to fuck around with Stiles’s iPod, there’s nothing remarkable upon it. Songs that Derek has no idea of, and a few he does. Ones that he loves, and he guesses it’s because of him which shouldn’t make him smile as much as it does. But he stumbles upon the ‘Notes’ app, and it’s filled with notes, all beginning with ‘Derek Hale’.

_April 19: Derek Hale is doing better. He smiled half-heartedly at Scott. Isaac had another nightmare. Jackson’s still sleeping with Laura’s blanket._

_June 3: Derek Hale is getting past denial, I guess. He’s getting angry. He yelled at me, but better me than the boys. Jackson spends some nights in my bed; Isaac has had less nightmares; Scott is not so sad. We went to the pool. Isaac and Scott spent a lot of time in the little pool, but I don’t think Jackson minded._

_July 10: Derek Hale is my… boyfriend? He says he loves me? What if he doesn’t? The boys. What about the boys?_

_August 29: Derek Hale is still my boyfriend. Partner? I guess. Both. The boys are amazing. I love them. Derek’s an attentive partner. I told him my name. He said it was lovely. I believe him._

_November 4: Derek Hale is still my partner. The boys are growing up. They’re so sweet._

_December 25: I’m fucking engaged!_

_January 14: Derek Hale has forest eyes, complete with the sunshine shining through the leaves. He has skin like sand—_

“Derek?” Stiles stands in the doorway, arms crossed and mouth in a firm pout, but he’s not upset. He’s exasperated, sure, but he always seems to be when he deals with Derek. That’s part of his beauty, the way he laughs whenever he wants, and how happy he wants to make everyone.

Derek looks up from the iPod and smiles bashfully. “Forest eyes?” he asks, standing up to cross the room, envelope Stiles in his arms. “You have _honey_ eyes, you idiot, and they’re beautiful.”

They don’t make it to dinner. They spend the evening watching television and laughing at the dumbest things, and before they leave to pick up the boys, Stiles says into Derek’s ear, “We’re getting married on March first. That’s my gift to you.”

Derek laughs lowly. “You beat me to it this time, but I was going to suggest February twenty-eighth.”

“Close enough,” Stiles answers, kissing Derek gently, sweetly and softly as his hands curl around Derek’s shoulder.

As they depart, Derek thinks it’s not _close enough_. Rather, it’s as right as it needs to be, and hell with the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Scott's called Otter, because ScOTT. Get it? Get it? No? Just me then.
> 
> I swear to God, I just gave Stiles all my musical tastes (that song is 'Crooked Teeth', Death Cab for Cutie, and I restrained from making another not!song!fic. I don't even know if I used exclamation points correctly.)
> 
> Comments with ideas are great, just so you know. I'm usually blank on plot and want to avoid suffocating you-all with fluff. BYE, DARLINGS.


End file.
